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Spires and Gargoyles
ThendowndesertedProspectandalongMcCoshwithsongeverywherearoundthem,uptothehotjovialityofNassauStreet.
TomD’InvilliersandAmorywalkedlateinthosedays.Agamblingfeversweptthroughthesophomoreclassandtheybentoverthebonestillthreeo’clockmanyasultrynight.AfteronesessiontheycameoutofSloane’sroomtofindthedewfallenandthestarsoldinthesky.
"Let’sborrowbicyclesandtakearide,"Amorysuggested.
"Allright.I’mnotabittiredandthisisalmostthelastnightoftheyear,really,becausethepromstuffstartsMonday."
TheyfoundtwounlockedbicyclesinHolderCourtandrodeoutabouthalf-pastthreealongtheLawrencevilleRoad.
"Whatareyougoingtodothissummer,Amory?"
"Don’taskme—sameoldthings,Isuppose.AmonthortwoinLakeGeneva—I’mcountingonyoutobethereinJuly,youknow—thenthere’llbeMinneapolis,andthatmeanshundredsofsummerhops,parlor-snaking,gettingbored—Butoh,Tom,"headdedsuddenly,"hasn’tthisyearbeenslick!"
"No,"declaredTomemphatically,anewTom,clothedbyBrooks,shodbyFranks,"I’vewonthisgame,butIfeelasifIneverwanttoplayanother.You’reallright—you’rearubberball,andsomehowitsuitsyou,butI’msickofadaptingmyselftothelocalsnobbishnessofthiscorneroftheworld.Iwanttogowherepeoplearen’tbarredbecauseofthecoloroftheirnecktiesandtherolloftheircoats."
